Growing up, I still received news from the orphanage. Mrs. Kim would usually visit me from time to time. If things weren’t busy on our part, we would go to the orphanage ourselves. As years went by, however, the familiar faces I knew grew scarce. Wooyoung, too, was adopted by a couple. I was eight years old at that time.

“He’s in America now,” Miss Song told me. “He sends two postcards, and told me to give one to you. You should reply, hm?”

I took the stack of postcards she handed out to me, and held them close to my chest. “Thank you, Miss.”

And so, we wrote to each other frequently. After several years, though, we stopped. Matters like school and other activities filled our time, and though it is painful for me to say, I think I did forget about Wooyoung. I was not able to reply to the last letter he sent me.

<:>

I dreaded family reunions. Although my foster family was very kind to me, some of their relatives could not accept their decision of resorting to adoption. By the time Suzy and Sang Moon arrived, they were baffled. Of course, I understood the reason why. Though they never told me, I saw through them. Up front, the adults would be very nice in my presence, but their children proved what they actually thought of me.

“Say, Sunggyu, you’re adopted, right?” the one who asked was Sooyoung, a distant cousin of my siblings. She was two years younger than me.

“I am,” I answered.

“You know, mom and dad says since Suzy and Sang Moon’s here already, why don’t aunt and uncle just return you to where they picked you?”

I smiled at her. “Would you like that?”

Flustered, she carried on scooping sand with the red, plastic shovel she held, only to place it into a matching bucket. “Well, it’s not like we’re related by blood! Mom says people like you will be traitors.”

“Ah,” I replied, before brushing some dirt from her face. “Be careful with the sand, Sooyoung. You may sting your eyes.”

“Well, are you going to be a traitor?” she pushed, before looking down out of embarrassment. “Because…if you aren’t, then I don’t mind being your cousin, too.”

“Do you like me?”

No response.

“Sooyoung-ah?”

She nodded quietly.

“I will serve this family well,” I answered.

Back then, I never dared ask why I was receiving that kind of treatment from the relatives of my foster parents. I may have been too afraid of the answer. Or perhaps, I couldn’t care less, because they never minded it, too. What I held on too, though, was this: everything is beautiful in its time.

In some ways, however, I strived to fill in the gap. Knowing I wasn’t related to them by blood, I tried my best to excel in everything. Honestly, I wanted to be a worthy son to them. I was around fourteen, when I was freed from that kind of mentality. Even now, I do not know if my foster parents noticed my struggles. What they said was simple. Perhaps, even unintentional: “You’ll always be our son, no matter what.”

That was it, and I figured, I needed to relax, despite the pressuring demands of the educational system in South Korea, and despite what opinion others have for me.

<:>

It was September, when I received a call from Mrs. Kim. It was a Saturday afternoon. I was watching over Suzy and Sang Moon while our parents worked in the garden, harvesting vegetables they planted themselves. Golden streams of sunshine went through the transparent windows, making the living room brighter when I received the news: Wooyoung committed suicide.

I said okay, and dropped the call. That was my initial reaction, considering I was too shocked. With a smile that couldn’t even reach my eyes, I told the younger two to play nicely, while I tell something to our parents.

They were still working away when I stood behind them, and in a rather empty voice, choked out, “Wooyoung’s dead.”

Soon, Mrs. Kim came knocking on our front door, asking for me. She was wearing a black dress, and her make-up was neatly done. Our parents said I should go with her, and I did. I stepped into her car, which always smelled like cherries. She ignited the engine, and we went to a café. She ordered for the both of us, and perhaps it was just my emotions at that time getting in way, but everything I ate tasted bland.

“I received the news yesterday,” she began, eyes downcast and hands intertwined on the table’s surface. “Wooyoung shot himself, straight in the head.”

“W-What?” I stammered. “Why?”

“He was under the influence of drugs when that happened, Sunggyu. According to his parents, he was attending a party when he got a hold of a handgun, hidden in the house. He pulled the trigger. And—”

“I see,” I interrupted, not really wanting to hear what happened afterwards: he died. I tightened the grip on my cup, already lukewarm, and looked outside the window. Everything was nothing but a muddle of thoughts in my head.

Wooyoung took drugs.

Wooyoung shot himself in the head.

Wooyoung will be stuck in that age forever.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” was all I managed to say, but that was not what I meant. Mrs. Kim must have saw through me, because we stayed in that place for a little longer, basking in complete silence.

When it was time to go, this was what she told me: “It’s okay to cry, Sunggyu.”

I smiled, and told her it was. She offered me a lift home, but I did not want to impose any longer. With the way she was dressed, I knew she had more important things to take care of. I sensed it had something to do with her son.

That was the last time I saw her, because on that same day, after telling me of what had happened to Wooyoung, it was her turn to die. Somehow, I never dared show my face during Mrs. Kim’s funeral. I instead pretended to be busy, and while in the process of doing so, stumbled upon the box where I kept Wooyoung’s letters and postcards.

It was a strange feeling, reading through his sentences, and watching snippets of his life unfold before my eyes, only to realize he was not around anymore. Wooyoung told me how he got into his school’s soccer team, and the unfortunate fate of the cookies he baked for his foster parents. He sent me photographs, and more letters containing things that mattered enough for him, he took the time letting me know. His last letter arrived on our doorstep three years ago, when we were still fourteen. It read:

Sunggyu,

How are you? I haven’t been writing letters lately; sorry. I was too busy with school and club activities.

I know I should write longer to make the posting cost worth it, but I couldn’t seem to do so. I’ll tell you my e-mail, instead—you told me your parents were planning to buy a computer soon, right? Haha! Parents. Funny word. I don’t mean it in a bad way, too. I’m just amazed how I can tell that word so easily now.

Hey, Sunggyu, is it okay for me to say this? Back then, when you got adopted first…I was actually jealous. We’re only two days apart, but they chose you over me. I was young, then. And stupid. I’m still stupid now, if you’re wondering. But just knowing you already have a home you can call your own, and I’m in the orphanage, stuck and insecure…it didn’t make things any better for me. I just thought, “I bet Sunggyu’s having the freaking ball of his life right now. Why would he bother returning to this rut?”

But lo and behold! You visited the orphanage whenever you had the chance. You always played games with me, and even introduced me to your siblings. I realized, then, that you’ve always treated me as your friend, and I’m the only one being bitter about the good thing that happened to you, when we were still four.

And that made me think. Just what kind of friend am I to you? Not being able to celebrate your victories with you, and not even asking if something was wrong with your life. I’m one hell of a trashy friend, huh?

I’m not even sure why I’m telling this to you now, but I just thought it’s now or never, right?

Oh, and by the way, I also added this bracelet I used to own. It means a lot to me, so I hope you keep it well. And thank you for tolerating my poor Korean. I’m beginning to lose it now. What a shame.

I’ll write my e-mail at the bottom of the page.

☆☆☆ Wooyoung

“Bracelet?” I quickly stood up, grimaced at the sudden surge of cramp in my calves, and half-limped, half-ran to my room where I kept the accessories I had. Surely enough, Wooyoung’s black leather bracelet, with its accents and clasp made out of silver, stayed where it was. A feeling of relief swept over me, and I took the bracelet, glimmering beneath the fading light of the setting sun.

Maybe it was just me looking into things too much and being paranoid about it, but I began to wonder what Wooyoung had meant when he said he was beginning to lose it. At that time, it was difficult to convince myself that he was talking about his Korean. I bit my lower lip, and carefully placed the item back to its rightful place. If I had replied, would I be able to know more? And if I hadn’t forgotten to send him an e-mail, would things be different? I knew I was at fault, too. I took our friendship for granted. I was, after all, someone who found it difficult to secure long distance relationships.

“Oppa, there’s an open box downstairs,” I was dragged back to reality, then, only to see Suzy, leaning against the doorframe, her hands swiftly pressing on the buttons of her Game Boy. “I almost tripped on it.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?” I scoffed.

“Well, it’s yours, right?”

I chuckled, walked towards her, and ruffled her hair. “All right, all right. I’ll clean it up now. Where’s Sang Moon?”

“He’s in the kitchen, eating cereal.”

“At this time of the night?”

She pouted. “You’re one to talk.”

“Well, we should head down and remind Sang Moon to brush and floss before going to bed.”

“But are you okay?”

I was taken aback by Suzy’s sudden question. As young as she was, there was no denying she could be quite receptive at times.

“I will be, Suzy.”

She paused her game, and stared at me. “You will be?”

I nodded. “One day.”

And just like that, I carried on with my life. I went to school as normal, studied as normal and aced exams as normal. I filled in a form, asking what kind of university I was targeting, and what kind of adult I expected myself to be. I figured, it was not rocket science, when it comes to fulfilling the demands of society. It wasn’t as difficult, because I emotionally detached myself enough. I learned how to time my smiles, and hold my tongue. People—who barely knew me—would say I have this bright future waiting ahead of me. All because they loved the way I acted. But the hard truth was, I simply couldn’t be bothered anymore.

It was a sad way to spend my youth, but at that time, I figured I preferred walking in sheer hollowness, because I was too much of a coward to risk everything, and get hurt. Pain, after all, reminds people they are alive, and are capable of love.

I refused to have any of that.

<:>

“Oppa.”

I peeked through my duvet, only to see Suzy, standing by my door, clutching her favorite Hello Kitty pillow. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and from the dim nightlight, I could see her eyes, itching to tell me something.

“What is it?”

“Can I sleep beside you?”

I scratched my head, and sat up straight. “What’s wrong with your room?”

“I’m just not comfortable. So…please?”

It was two in the morning, and our parents were out for several days to attend a seminar in Jeju Island. Sang Moon was sleeping soundly in his room. I let out a tiny grunt, and scooted to one side to make room for her. “Hop on.”

With a smile, she hurriedly took the space beside me, and made herself comfortable beneath the duvet. She inhaled. “It smells like you.”

“What do you expect?” I scoffed. “And get your feet away from me; they’re cold.”

“But you’re warm,” she whined.

I sighed. “Suit yourself. You should stop doing this, though. You’re a growing girl, Suzy. And it makes it difficult for me to move around.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she yawned, and wrapped her arms around me. I felt her forehead against my back. She was warm. And soft. “I just don’t like it when mom and dad aren’t around.”

“I don’t like it, too,” I replied. “Because you keep on gate-crashing like this.”

She squeezed me tighter. “Get used to it. I’m better, though, because Sang Moon sleeps like a clock, rotating all the time.”

I chuckled. “You got that right.”

“Oppa.”

“Hm?”

“You know, at school…” she began.

I paused, and gently broke free from her grasp so I could face her. “What about school?”

“Well, I just don’t get girls sometimes. That’s why I hang around with Sungjong, instead. He’s really cool.”

“You don’t get girls sometimes,” I repeated.

She nodded, her eyes not straying from me. “I don’t know how to tell mom and dad—I mean, I think it’s not even worth discussing about, but that’s it, really: I don’t understand girls. They are very, very complicated.”

“Why do you say so?”

“This certain group is sort of mad at me, I guess, for reasons I don’t even know.”

“How mad?” I pressed on.

“The typical irritating pranks you get at school, I receive from them.”

“You aren’t hurt?”

She laughed. “Oppa, do you really think I’ll give them that kind of pleasure? Of course, I cried once—just once—because I got really upset, but that’s all.”

I paused for a while, before saying, “Girls may as well be as complicated as boys. But you’re really strong, Suzy-yah, for being gracious.”

“It’s because the one who is in me is stronger!” she cried, ecstatic. “And you told me before, right? That I can’t ‘just punch’ people in the face.”

“Ah,” I laughed, upon remembering the memory. “How is that boy, then?”

“Ilhoon? I think he’s attending an all-boys school now.”

Silence.

“Oppa.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t tell me those girls are just jealous of me.”

I waited for her to carry on.

“That’s what some of my classmates say, but it must be sad for them, right? Being bitter like that. Their hearts must hurt all the time. I don’t know—it’s really tempting to get back at them, but I won’t. That will result to more hate, right?”

Smiling, I kissed the top of her head, and hugged her tight.

“I’m glad I can talk this over with you,” she muttered. “I hope I can be a listening ear to someone, too.”

I didn’t respond, and soon, she fell asleep.

I changed into a pink shirt the next morning, and shook Suzy awake, who somehow managed to take most of my bed space. She slowly opened her eyes, and sat up straight. She yawned, and from the look in her eyes, she was still dazed.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” I greeted.

A smile graced her lips. “Good morning, Summer.”

"So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it."
- Colossians 3:12-14